As I look back through the times of long ago, I feel a tiny tear trickle down my cheek. It seems like a part of my heart died right along with the flesh of my forefathers. A proud nation whos spirit died, somewhere in the changing of history. Our love for America was greater than the love for ourselves. We worked to preserve the beauty of a crystal waterfall or a hazey sunset. But all we got in return was the bloody remains of our people. If America is called "the land of the free and the home of the brave" then why are so many of my people lying in their graves? Even though I live in sadness, I'm glad they are not here to see what has happened to America and it's people. I am no different inside than the white people, but the color of my skin is the downfall of my heritage. The ways of my people have caused me no shame, But seems to be what's causing me all this pain. No matter what happens, or how afraid I am, I will never let it show. That's what they want, for me to give up-- lose all of my hope. But hope is the only thing that I have, and the last thing I'll let die. Because like the people before me, who dreamed of being free, I'm proud, Brave and Indian, A brother to my land. By Niki